


What in me is dark illumine

by Blanquette



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Cowboy Hats, Dark Past, Fluff and Angst, Long Hair, M/M, Magic Gay Cowboys, Magical Realism, Minor Violence, Strangers to Lovers, Witch Hunters, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-28 12:38:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17787554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blanquette/pseuds/Blanquette
Summary: It’s still the desert. Miles ahead, miles behind, and the train under its black cloud. Jeonghan doesn’t remember when he got on, doesn’t know when he will get off. It’s still the desert, yellow sand and white rocks over the horizon, tall mountains it seems they will never reach. Time flows differently here, in a rhythm dictated by the sound of the blast pipes and the cadency of the coupling rods; here night and day do not matter anymore.Jeonghan finds Joshua on a train. Or Joshua finds Jeonghan. They're both running. Not fast enough, maybe.





	What in me is dark illumine

**Author's Note:**

> First time I'm writing anything Seventeen and I'm very nervous about it :')))  
> You can come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/BlanquetteAO3) or [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/blanquette) if this is a disaster.

**1.**

It’s still the desert. Miles ahead, miles behind, and the train under its black cloud. Jeonghan doesn’t remember when he got on, doesn’t know when he will get off. It’s still the desert, yellow sand and white rocks over the horizon, tall mountains it seems they will never reach. Time flows differently here, in a rhythm dictated by the sound of the blast pipes and the cadency of the coupling rods; here night and day do not matter anymore.

They stop, sometimes, in little towns covered in dust; the people as much as the dwellings, greying shadows bending under a sandy wind. Jeonghan changes carriages, then. No one will know him in these forgotten lands, but still wariness is ingrained in him, from countless flights; hidden away at the back of coaches as a child, wild rides through the night with fires at their heels.

The train departs with a start and Jeonghan catches the nearest bench to hold himself up. A man is seated there, cages of poultry at his feet, and the look he sends him spurs Jeonghan on. Sleeping forms huddled against shaky windows, children crawling in their parents’ lap, the noise, too much noise, and Jeonghan walks on shaky grounds, wishing he could melt from under those stares.

There’s an empty spot at the end of the carriage. A man is sleeping on the opposite bench, limbs awkwardly folded, a black gambler pulled low over his face. Jeonghan looks at him, sending forward tendrils from his fingers, something subtle and invisible, something that assures him the man is no threat. And so he sits, looking out the dusty window to the empty planes of the desert.

 

**2.**

He wakes in the night and there is someone on the empty bench in front on him. He doesn’t move, half-opened eyes looking from under the wide brim of his hat. He knows what woke him, then. There’s the familiar feel of electricity coursing on his skin, barely there, the man concealing well what he truly is. But Joshua learned to find them, Joshua learned to find them and to kill them.

He moves slowly, so as not to startle, unfolding his limbs and raising his head. The man doesn’t look, but his disinterest is too studied to be genuine. Joshua smiles despite himself; he could tell him, that this is no use. Instead he feigns a yawn, wiping the sleep from his eyes, and still looks at the man. Soft hair falling over slender shoulders, to conceal, maybe, though he stands out ever more, and yes, there is no mistaking it, it’s in the delicacy of his features and the light at the tip of his fingers; he would burn, he would burn if Joshua was anyone else.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

The man startles, looks over and simply shakes his head. Joshua smiles, but there is no easing the other.

“Me neither. It’s a long way from home.”

Something wistful blooms and dies in the other’s eyes and Joshua is about to add a word when there’s the sound of the whistle, the screeching of the brakes, and the train rolls to a halt in a black cloud. The man’s eyes widen and it’s fear, pure and helpless; Joshua knows it is justified. They always come in the night.

The man is jittery, making to move, but Joshua knows it won’t save him. And so he grabs his wrist, pulling him down, and he feels frail under his hand; Joshua can see them, the days spent without eating, hiding away, he can see them in his jutting cheekbones and the feverish light in his eyes.

“Don’t move. It’s gonna be fine. I have some magic of my own.”

“What?”

Down the alley the carriage door bangs open and in pours three men and they both know their colors; black Coburn coats and the white collars of their faith. The man’s eyes jump from Joshua to them, until resignation falls over his features. He nods, surrendering.

“Sit next to me and don’t move. I need to be touching you. Pretend to be asleep or something.”

The man looks at him for a beat, before switching seats and sinking his weight against Joshua’s side; his head falling on his shoulder as his eyes close.

“Don’t startle.”

It starts then. An emptiness inside himself that grows until it encompasses all that he touches, drawing energies into his void; and the man next to him lets out a faint whimper.

“It’s fine. It will come back.”

Joshua puts a hand over the man’s head, to comfort or to silence he’s not too sure, and it falls as the sounds of footsteps reaches them. The man stopping at their bench is young, too young for such a trade. It makes it easier, somehow. Joshua smiles and nods to his companion, asking for quiet.

“Something out of order?”

The man tilts his head, intently looking, and Joshua knows what it is he’s doing, what it is he’s looking for, and he hopes he’s still strong enough to conceal, keep the magic safe, hidden under a veil.

“No. Unless you have something to say?”

Joshua shakes his head and the man nods, once, but he stops short of walking away.

“What’s your name?”

“Joshua.”

“You look familiar.”

“I have a lot of brothers.”

The kid snorts, quickly schooling his features back into a mask of stern authority and he nods, seemingly placated.

“Alright, okay. Travel safe.”

“Thanks. Same to you.”

Joshua waits, then, waits until the train departs, until the coupling rods bonding the wheels bring them back to safer lands. Joshua shakes his companion, who springs from his side with wide eyes.

“What did you do? I didn’t feel – How did you take it away? It feels – it feels terrible.”

“I didn’t take it away. I just hid it. It’s fine. It’s still there.”

Joshua exhales, then, eyes closing for something longer than a blink, willing his energies to pull back the veil. When he looks up, the man looks sharper, somehow, and he’s marveling at his own hands, seeing there something Joshua cannot quite discern.

“How…”

A sharp intake of breath, the man looking up in fear.

“You’re one of them.”

“Was.” 

“Was? You cannot quit the order.”

“You can, if you don’t mind a little lawlessness.”

The man blinks, seemingly not quite sure how to react, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips and Joshua encourages it with one of his own.

“I’m Joshua. What’s your name?”

The man tilts his head, considering, and Joshua submits to the scrutiny. Strangely enough the man doesn’t use his magic, hands sagely folded in his lap and eyes soft.

“Jeonghan.”

“It’s dangerous, to travel alone.”

“I have no one left to travel with.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. There must be something on the other side of this desert. Someplace where they don’t build pyres for people like me.”

Joshua nods, and he can see it, he can see him, Jeonghan, poked and probed at, pretty hair shaved off, questioned and dragged through the dust to expiate forged sins in smoke and fire, soft voice breaking over tortured screams.

A shudder goes through him as his eyes focus back on the present, on the man in front of him; Joshua knows he is the only sinner here, he knows, and maybe some of this guilt could be absolved if only he tried.

“We should get off at the next stop.”

“What?”

“It won’t be the only search they do. If they find you here there is nowhere to run.”

Jeonghan watches him again, thoughtful, pink tongue darting to wet dry lips.

“You said ‘we’”.

“I’m curious, too, about what’s on the other side of this desert.”

 

**4.**

The town they stop in is barely one. Mine workers’ dwellings and dust, a tavern they avoid and a general store where Joshua finds water and food for a few days.

“Are we sleeping outside?”

“We are.”

Jeonghan nods, following as Joshua traces a path up a rocky hill behind the town. It’s windy, an old tree offering barely enough shelter for them to dwell under. Its old branches twist and turn and Jeonghan stares at the old bark, scarred by time, at the twisted fingers reaching to the skies; and he feels it, something pulsing inside the tree, an old magic belonging to ancient times when the world wasn’t yet disenchanted by fire and iron. They will be safe, here, he knows, and he puts careful fingers against the old trunk, bowing his head in gratefulness.

Joshua watches but doesn’t say anything as he builds the campfire. He watches, and he feels something, maybe, something wistful, a warmth that springs from the old tree to embrace all that there is, as a sigh escapes from Jeonghan’s lips, the graceful slope of this shoulders softening. This is it, he thinks, what he was taught to seek and destroy, and he shakes his head as he digs old food out of his pack.

Dried meat and apples, which he hands to Jeonghan when he turns around. They sit, eat in silence near the crackling flames and the night isn’t as cold as it could be, the wind isn’t as strong; Joshua wonders if it is all Jeonghan, or if the cosmos is simply kind to them. That, or something else, and Joshua used to have faith, once, but he lost it, he lost it amongst tormented screams and the smell of burning flesh.

“What did you do in the order?”

Joshua almost chokes, swallowing meat with a swig of water. Jeonghan’s eyes shine huge in the light of the flames and Joshua had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, he had hoped the man wouldn’t ask, but there is no escape from the past.

“You must know what I did.”

Jeonghan hugs his knees to his chest, head tilted, hair falling into his eyes and he looks small and vulnerable like this, easy to break, like countless others before him.

“I want to hear it. How do you always know where we are? We keep running, and yet, we are always found.”

Joshua sighs, eyes falling to the ground where he draws shapes in the dust.

“We learn. They teach us, how to track magic, the particular smell that it has, how you can attract it by emptying yourself, how you can neutralize it. We know your ways, too, we know the traces you leave behind; and we have eyes everywhere. Anyone can betray you. Your neighbors, the woman who sold you food, the carriage that you rented and the kids who saw you pass on the road. All the power is in our hands. In their hands.”

A slow nod, Jeonghan’s gaze falling to the flames.

“Why did you join the order?”

“I did not.”

“What, you were born into it?”

A slow smile, Joshua throwing a stick into the fire as he reclines back on his hands, watching the dry wood crack and shrivel in the flames.

“A lot of us are just raised into it. Orphans of the church, mostly, runaway children.”

“Which one were you?”

“A runaway.”

Jeonghan nods, eyes falling to Joshua and he looks at him thoughtfully, shadows dancing on his face.

“Why did you leave, then?”

“They may have raised me into it but I know right from wrong. No faith is strong enough to withstand what I saw. What they do. What I did.”

“You don’t believe anymore.”

Joshua shakes his head, lifting his eyes to the sky. The stars shine cold in their cloak of night, and he knows that the heavens are empty, empty as the hole left inside him.

“You still have the magic, though. What you did, in the train, when you hid me. Only the faithful can do that.”

“I believe in kindness. In trying, at least. In doing your best. Maybe it is enough.”

It should be, he thinks, it should be enough to pull you through, but in a world like this, against forces such as those, it might yet be too little. Still Jeonghan nods, chasing the hair from his eyes and his skin glows golden in the dancing light, a slow, hesitant smile gracing his lips and Joshua makes a promise, then: this one he will keep safe, this one he will lead far from the burning pyres.

That night, Jeonghan sleeps curled up under the tree, far from Joshua lying next to the sleeping ambers of their fire.

 

**5.**

“We need horses.”

“What?”

“Do you expect us to cross a whole desert on foot?”

Jeonghan levels him with a look he had yet to experience, and Joshua can only smile.

“I expected to cross it by train but then someone had the bright idea to get us off.”

“It probably saved your life.”

“If it’s just for me to die of thirst in a goddamn desert I would have taken the order.”

“They would have shaved all your hair off.”

“Dehydration it is.”

Joshua laughs, maybe more at Jeonghan’s disgruntled look than at his snappy words.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Great. So where and how will you get us horses?”

“From the tavern.”

“They sell horses?”

Joshua tilts his hat up, looking at Jeonghan to try and find any trace of mirth. But the man is perfectly serious, looking at him expectantly. 

“How did you survive until then?”

“Guts and wits.”

“Mostly guts, I bet.”

“Are you calling me an idiot?”

“Not entirely.”

Jeonghan narrows his eyes at him, but Joshua ignores his rebuff in order to rake sands over the dying ambers of their fire. The sun is already quite high, and he’d hoped they would have already been far gone by then.

“There were three horses there last night. If we’re lucky they might still be. So you wait for me at the foot of the hill, and I’ll come get you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“How can I be sure you’re not just gonna leave me there?”

Joshua has no answer for him because there isn’t any to give. He’s a thief, a killer, a runaway; Jeonghan’s not the first one who would be better off not trusting him.

“All right. But you do what I say, then. And at the first sign of trouble, you run. Also, wear this.”

He throws him the spare duster he keeps rolled up in his pack; Jeonghan barely catches it.

“Why?”

“It will make you stand out less.”

“I stand out?”

Joshua rises, his pack in one hand. Jeonghan’s dusty pemberton shirt hangs from his bony shoulders and yet the dark hair framing his face, falling over his collarbones, bring an almost regal quality to him. Haphazardly tucked into his chapmans the shirt hangs too loose, and he looks vulnerable, like this; something tight coils between Joshua’s ribs as he stares.

“Yeah, you stand out. Wear the coat.”

The man shrugs, slipping into the black duster as Joshua secures his pack on his back. It’s only marginally better.

“You don’t have a hat?”

“I lost it.”

“We’ll get you one.”

The town is still as quiet as it was, when they reach it. A warm wind dusting the only street, dingy houses built on either side. There’s two horses left tied near the building officing as a tavern, two skinny things raking the dried earth of their hooves.

“Should we really be doing this in broad daylight?”

“Probably not my brightest idea, no. But no one seems to be here.”

Jeonghan stops then, hands slightly outstretched from his body, eyes closed. He inhales and his hair seems to move from another kind of wind. It lasts barely a minute, hands falling back down, limp at his side as he opens his eyes.

“Four people in the tavern, counting the bartender.”

“Don’t do this.”

“What?”

“If someone saw you–”

“They can’t tell. And you just said no one was around.”

“We can’t take that risk.”

“Should you really be lecturing me about risks when we’re going around stealing horses in the middle of the day?”

“It’s not the middle of the day yet.”

“I should really have stayed on that train.”

Joshua laughs, hiding behind his hand as he walks to the side of the tavern where the horses are, Jeonghan on his heels. They make quick work of the knots holding the animals there, going around back as silently as they can. Success, Joshua thinks, and he hears the gun cock before he sees it.

He turns slowly, and the man behind them is aiming at his head with a hunting rifle, a wide brimmed hat pushed high back over his sweating brow.

“I’ll shoot, I’m not joking. Strangers coming into town, sleeping on the hill, it’s trouble I said, and no one listened, and look, now I’m gonna shoot you.”

Joshua lets go of the horse’s bridle, who stays at his side, disinterested. Jeonghan’s somewhere on his left but Joshua’s whole attention is on the man as he slowly raises his hands.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’ll just give the horses back and be on our way, yeah?”

“To go steal from some poor other sod? Nay, we used to cut off thieves’ hands and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do so you walk over here.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“I don’t care what you’d rather.”

The man tightens his grip on the rifle, closing an eye as he takes aim again. Joshua glances at Jeonghan, wondering if he can be fast enough to buy time for him to flee. But Jeonghan has let go of his horse and his hands are slightly outstretched from his body, hair moving from a breeze only he can feel. Joshua’s about to yell but the scream that resonates isn’t his, and when he looks back the man has dropped his weapon, holding his head between his hands and screaming, body falling to the ground.

“What did you do to him?”

“Should you really be asking questions? Let’s leave before the noise attracts someone else.”

Jeonghan swings into the saddle before Joshua can retort. He spares a last glance at the man struggling in the dust with unseen foes before mounting his own horse, the grey thing raising a cloud of dust as it takes off after its companion.  

 

**6.**

They ride for hours, or so it seems. Yet the sun is still high when they stop as the earth starts to dip towards a canyon. Joshua swings off his saddle, stalking to Jeonghan, yanking him as soon as his feet touch the ground.

“What was that? I told you not to do magic!”

“Oh yeah, sure, cause you had a better idea to save us from Drunkie MacGonna-cut-your-hands-off? Go ahead, I’m a giant ear.”

Joshua sighs, swallowing hard as he lets go of Jeonghan’s shoulders.

“I would have come up with something eventually.”

“Before or after getting your brains blown out?”

“I’m serious, okay? This was nothing compared to what could happen if you keep doing that.”

Jeonghan huffs, pushing his hair back in a frustrated gesture.

“Okay, you know it was the only way to get us both safe out of there. So what’s your problem, really? Gives you an itch to bust out the needles? Light some pyres?”

Joshua steps back, placated.

“That’s– That’s low, Jeonghan.”

“But that’s what you did, didn’t you? Lighted some fire under some poor bastard’s feet and watched them burn to death, clapping each other on the back with your little friends.”

“I didn–“

He feels caged in, suddenly, ribs collapsing over burning lungs and words stay stuck in his throat, vision swimming as a buzzing sound fills his ears and there’s screaming, coming from somewhere, screaming and a smell of burning flesh, a smell he knows well, one that used to stay with him from days on end. Something touches him and he jerks back, tripping, falling hard on a dusty ground and there’s thunder crashing somewhere and the taste of blood in his mouth, dark and heavy as he closes his eyes on dancing shapes.

“Breathe, breathe, Joshua? Shua, breathe.”

There’s a weight pressing on his chest, a light somewhere, and something warm and golden fills his being, chasing the screams and the stink until his eyes open on a face he came to know well.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

He sits up, head swimming, brings a finger to his lips that comes off bloody.

“Shua, I went too far. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. Except for the clapping each other’s on the back bit, maybe. They aren’t a very friendly bunch.”

This brings back other kinds of memories, echoes of kneeling on a hard floor until his knees bled, of lessons learned through harsh hands splitting his skin, memories of giving up, too, rebellion flayed out of him over months and years, a faith hard as iron replacing any waking thoughts.

He looks up, stirred away from his memories by gentle hands over his face, wiping the blood from his lips, pushing his gambler from his brow. Jeonghan’s kneeling next to him in the dust, pretty hair falling over his eyes and Joshua heedlessly grabs a strand, letting it run through his fingers like water and he forgets, sometimes, that there’s still good things in this world.

“I felt warm.”

“What?”

“It was magic, wasn’t it?”

“I just… I thought it could help.”

“It did. I felt warm.”

A smile, Jeonghan sitting more comfortably on the ground, close, too close, maybe, and the hand playing with his hair grows bolder, fingers threading softly in silky strands and Jeonghan lets out a sigh, closing his eyes.

“I panicked, earlier. When he was aiming at you. So I called forth something dark.”

“It’s fine. I overreacted.”

“So no pyre for me?”

“No pyre for you.”

A soft smile, a soft push against his hand, and the something, again, the something tight coiling between Joshua’s ribs as he looks at Jeonghan.

“I wouldn’t– I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Jeonghan keeps his eyes closed, head dipped towards the ground as Joshua gently threads soft fingers in his hair, and they stay like this until Joshua’s heart calms down, until his head clears, until the sun starts to dip behind the tall heights of the mountains.

 

**7.**

This time Jeonghan sits next to Joshua as he builds the campfire. They eat a lukewarm broth they make from leftovers, dried out things Joshua has trouble remembering what they used to be. It’s okay, though, it’s fine, here under a star-lit sky, Jeonghan’s humming a senseless song under his breath.

When all is put away Joshua rolls his duster under his head as a pillow, fishing out a tattered book from the depths of his pack.

“You read?”

“Yeah, you don’t?”

Jeonghan’s watching him with eager eyes, knees hugged to his chest as he does sometimes, and the light dancing in his eyes makes him look like an eager kid. He’s shaking his head, biting at his lips.

“I know the alphabet? Kinda. We didn’t really have use for reading.”

“How do you learn magic?”

“Well, not from books that’s for sure.”

Joshua laughs, but the other’s eyes don’t leave the tired cover of the book in his hands and so he extends it to him. Jeonghan takes it almost reverently, gentle fingers coursing over yellowed pages, trying to draw meaning from the abstract letters flowing in front of his eyes.

“I recognize some, but I can’t tell what they mean put together.”

“Do you want me to teach you?”

Jeonghan’s gaze snaps to him, searching, and he’s still worrying at his bottom lip, looking almost wary. It’s okay, Joshua wants to say, I don’t mind, but he waits him out instead, taking back the book, thumbing well-loved pages.

“Later, maybe. Can you read to me, first?”

“Sure.”

They sit together and it feels a bit solemn, Joshua thinks, a bit magic, maybe, as Jeonghan pushes his hair back and stares at him expectantly, something almost devout in his face. He feels like a priest, opening his book at the first page and taking a breath.

“ _Call me Ishmael_ ”, he starts, and already Jeonghan’s gaze is riveted to him, to his finger following the words on the page, almost straining to hear better.

_“With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship.”_

“Who is Cato?”

“I don’t know. Someone who died by the sword.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Jeonghan nods, tilting his head with a thoughtful crease in his brow.

“I’ve never seen the ocean.”

“Really?”

“Mh. Did you?”

Joshua nods, turning a page.

“I did, once.”

He was a child, or a teenager, maybe; there had been a shipwreck not far from the coast and the order was petitioned to bless and burn the dead. He remembers the bloated corpses, the repulsive look of their flesh, skin floating on their bodies like ill-fitted gloves, tongue grossly protruding out of their mouths. He hadn’t paid much attention to the ocean.

“Was it pretty?”

“It was.”

“Pretty how?”

“Pretty big.”

Jeonghan huffs, playfully hitting his shoulder and Joshua smiles, marking the page with his thumb.

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember it that well. We could go there, if you want.”

A pause, Jeonghan looking at him with slightly wide eyes, and Joshua wonders if he went too far.

“Is there big cities near the ocean? I heard about them.”

“Yeah, there are.”

“I want to see them.”

“You will.”

Jeonghan nods, once, as if a decision had been made; he sits closer, gesturing for Joshua to keep reading. And Joshua does, long into the night, until Jeonghan’s weight sinks into his side, bearer of a heavy sleep.

_“Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand thousands upon thousands of mortal men, fixed in ocean reveries.”_

 

**8.**

They ride far, but not far enough, never far enough. He hears them first, up on a crest; Jeonghan’s riding in front of him, hair tucked under the soft Laredo hat they got him, Joshua’s duster fluttering behind him. He slows down on purpose and there’s no mistaking it, horse’s hooves pounding the bedrock; at least three, probably more, and they’re not bothering to try and stay silent, they know there is no escaping them.

“Jeonghan, wait up.”

There’s no time to lose, and Joshua sends his horse in a galop to catch up, Jeonghan turning in his saddle with a question in his face.

“Yeah?”

Better me than him, Joshua thinks, and he pushes two fingers of his left hand to Jeonghan’s brow as his right circles his arm. Jeonghan doesn’t have time to be surprised.

“Sleep.”

And Jeonghan does, sagging in his saddle, eyes closed. Joshua ties him there, quick fingers working in urgency, and the horses are almost upon them when he spurs Jeonghan’s mount on with a blow to its rear.

He turns back, then, hand on the mane of his horse who’s raking the sand with its hooves, nervous.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he tells the animal, but the words ring hollow and as the first rider appears on the path fear rakes its claws over his flesh, his heart beating hard against its bony prison. Joshua draws a shaky breath, fingers tightening their hold on the bridle. He knows what’s coming, he knows, and he isn’t ready.

 

**9.**

It always starts like this. They strip you, sit you on a chair and shave your hair. Rough hands, dull blade, and blood trickling down your brow.

“Jisoo. It’s been a long time.”

He knows the man seated in front of him. He knows his pudgy face, his grating voice and the satisfied smile he bears when prisoners break.

“You knew it was coming, right? You couldn’t have escaped us forever.”

Joshua stays silent. He knows this, too, no matter what you have to say your fate is already decided.

“We could well dispense with all of this. You know your crime, you know the punishment. This isn’t needed. But you weren’t traveling alone, were you?”

Joshua grits his teeth, the coarse rope they tied him with digging into his skin.

“We looked for him, but we couldn’t find him. We couldn’t track his magic, either. You were always good at this.”

Relief is too visible on his face, Joshua knows, the man arching an eyebrow, a half-smile curving his lips.

“You could just tell us. Who is he, what you did. We will find him eventually, you know that. You could make your life easier.”

Joshua shakes his head, not trusting his words. Better me than him, he thinks, and he’ll have a clean death he knows, hanged like a common criminal and if your neck snaps it’s nothing at all, it’s nothing, not like the slow, agonizing death that awaits Jeonghan, tied to a pyre, flesh devoured by fire.

“Alright. Suit yourself.”

His inquisitor nods to the quiet man standing back against the far wall of the cell. The man steps forward, and in his hands he holds a deerskin that he puts on the table with a delicacy too unlike the roughness of his features. He’s thin like a crane, spider-like fingers undoing the drawstring keeping the deerskin closed and Joshua knows he shouldn’t look but he does anyway. He recognizes each and every one of the tools resting there, shining in the dim light of the kerosene lamp.

He knows, too, what they will do to his body, what they will carve out of his flesh, and he hears them in his mind, the screams and the pleas, he sees them, he sees them breaking, and he knows he won’t fare any better; but he must, he must, because better he than him, better he than him.

 

**10.**

They leave him there, tied to the chair, body bent towards the ground, and he watches the blood mix with the dust. Time is the rhythm of his heart beating in the flayed wounds of his arms, in the open flesh of his thighs and pain’s numbing his mind but he knows, he knows he must keep silent; he’s not too sure why anymore, eyes barely open, he’s not too sure why but there’s flashes of a smile and pretty hair in the sunlight and something hot burns against his arm and he knows why they do that, he knows, the blood will stop but the flesh will rot alive. Better be me, better be me, he thinks, and if he repeats it enough it becomes a mantra and words always held power; he can hold on, he can, he must and he will. He faints, when his ankle breaks.

“Hey, wake up. Drink this. Quick.”

His parched lips open on a sigh and he forces his eyes open, vision blurry and everything hurts, everything hurts, his legs and his arms and the ribs his heart’s impaled on. Someone’s forcing water to his lips and he drinks; it’s cold, almost painfully so as it falls on his empty stomach. It feels like an hour but it must have been only a few seconds, and the face in front of his eyes resolves itself into someone familiar, someone he knows.

“You’re – you’re the kid from the train.”

“Yeah. I knew I had seen you somewhere. I had forgotten it was on a wanted poster.”

Joshua cracks a smile, something pitiful that stretches the cut on his lips and he tastes blood.

“Can you get me out of here?”

There’s a flash of pity in the kid’s eyes, but fear, too, and he leaves the empty waterskin on the table, taking a step back.

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry. But, I can. I can make it stop.”

He shifts, taking an object from the inside of his Coburn; it makes a dull sound as he puts it next to the waterskin on the table. A hunting knife, and Joshua didn’t know a blade could look this inviting, shining silver in the dull light.

“I can’t do it myself, but I can… I can give it to you, and, and, you know.”

Joshua knows. The kid is giving him a release, but it is war that he seeks.

“Give it to me.”

“What?”

“Untie me and give it to me. And then, you leave.”

The kid nods, an almost reverent fear painted on his features, and Joshua has an inkling of what he must look like to him, right now, body bent and covered in blood, a feverish glint in his eyes, teeth bared; he must look like one of those demons, the ones eating children on the sabbath, the ones in the prints from the books where they learned how to read; something savage and straight from hell.

The kid makes quick work of the ties around his wrists. The knife is heavy in his hands, fingers devoid of strength, broken nails hurting with each movement. But Joshua holds it tight, bringing his hands back around the chair as they were.

“Now you leave. You tell them I’m awake.”

A nod, the kid leaving in a frightful hurry and Joshua waits, trying to sharpen his mind, to keep the pain at bay. If he falls, he won’t fall alone.

The door opens on the pudgy man and he’s alone, as Joshua knew he would be. The satisfaction of seeing his victims break had always been for his eyes alone, and Joshua knows the smile his face arbors, the satisfied one, the one he always wanted to carve out of him.

He sits and Joshua stares, tongue darting over cracked lips.

“I’m told you’re ready to talk?”

It should have been harder, Joshua thinks. It should, but it’s not, and it seems he’s watching from a removed plane, from somewhere near the ceiling. He sees a broken body flailing, launching itself with a cry, he sees a blade sink in rosy flesh, easy, too easy, he sees blood spurting and hears a strangled cry and he sees the blade slice up, up through the throat. And like this it’s over, bodies falling to the ground, hard on the dusty floor, warm blood that isn’t his staining his broken skin.

The door bangs open almost immediately, there’s cries of surprise and rough hands yanking him by the arms, dragging him over the floor and it should hurt but it doesn’t, he doesn’t feel anything, mind and body fractioned; he’s still watching from somewhere else; he’s the dust floating in the corridor and the grim sticking to his skin, he’s the blood and the blade left with the dead.

**11.**

They dress him in his old clothes. Roughly, and he bleeds through the cotton of his shirt. They don’t force shoes on his feet, left ankle red and swollen, too painful to walk on; he’s dragged out, and the sudden light of the sun burns his eyes.

There’s noise, a crowd, and when he can finally force his eyes open all he sees is the gallows, standing in the middle of the square. So this is it, he thinks, and he thought he would have felt sorrow when it came, but it’s mostly relief. He knew, too, that it would come, that he couldn’t run forever; and at least he tried and did good, he did his best, and maybe kindness can be this, too. There’s relief in giving up, and he lets them take him up the gibbet without struggling.

He can barely hold himself up under the rope and the executioner keeps a harsh hand on his arm. The crowd blurs in front of his eyes, he hears excited hollers and the booming voice of the magistrate listing his crimes; he needs it to end, now, he does, he’s tired and hurt and his body will break, he knows it will, he will keel over before they can put the rope around his neck.

But there’s a light at the very edge of the crowd. A soft light, shining white and silver and Joshua stares, he stares until it fills his being and he knows it, he knows the feeling, warm and golden and a sigh escapes his lips. The hand on his arm grows softer, too; the executioner leans towards him and the voice that escapes his lips isn’t his.

“It’s going to be fine, just, trust me.”

And Joshua finds that he does, completely so, surrendered to the voice and the warmth flooding his being. He nods, slowly, body sagging on himself and the man holds him up as a chant rises, something soft and melodic that shouldn’t be heard but is, thousand voices threaded into one rising above the crowd. There’s a collective sigh, something wistful that speaks of gentler times and forgotten hopes, and eyes close, bodies sway to a song that resonates in a hundred heads. And the crowd sags on itself, slowly, gently, just as Joshua is half-carried off the gallows, to the opening of the square where two horses await.

Two horses, and Jeonghan, too, pretty hair shining in the sunlight, a worried smile on his lips and Joshua falls into him like an autumn leaf, weightless and spent, and Jeonghan opens his arm, welcoming him to a sheltering darkness.

 

**12.**

Joshua wakes under a night sky. There’s a fire crackling nearby, hushed voices, a laugh. The pain that used to dominate his waking hours is mostly gone, banished to darker corners by a magic he has come to know. He moves tentatively, pushing himself up on his elbows and the blanket that covered him up to his shoulders falls in his lap. There’s a sudden hush from the shadows he can see moving near the campfire, and a taller one detaches itself from the flames, moving towards him.

A boy, softly curled hair falling over his brow; he folds his tall limbs into a crouch near Joshua, a comforting smile on his lips.

“Hello. My name’s Wonwoo. Jeonghan is sleeping. His little trick sort of drained him.”

“Yeah it was – it was something.”

Joshua’s throat is dry, words come out strained and his voice breaks over the last syllables.

“We showed him. We lent him our magic.”

“How did you find him?”

“We look out for our own.”

Joshua looks over, to the campfire, to the girls and boys laughing there, uninterested in him, eyes shining in the light of the flames, young and beautiful, unafraid. Joshua realizes something, then. Something is missing. Something he should be feeling.

“I can’t feel you. I can’t feel the magic here.”

Wonwoo smiles, sitting more comfortably, fingers drawing lazy patterns in the dust.

“You’re not the first one to run from your order. Some of your peers taught us things.”

Joshua’s eyes widen as he stares, lips parting on rushed words.

“You mean – you can hide? From the order? Jeonghan, he could, he could–”

“He learned fast. How do you think he managed to approach an order stronghold unseen?”

“I– thank you.”

The man’s smile widens as he shakes his head, stretching slender arms over his head.

“You should thank Jeonghan. Honestly I didn’t think it was worth it. That you would make it. You were half dead when he brought you back. And there’s only so much magic can do.”

Joshua looks down, to his bloody shirt, to the wounds on his arms tightly bandaged.

“I took care of you. It wasn’t easy. But Jeonghan – he really likes you, doesn’t he?”

Eyes still downcast, Joshua absently answers, mind reeling.

“I don’t know.”

“He said you’re teaching him how to read. That you’re taking him to the ocean.”

“I am. I don’t have the book anymore, though.”

“What was it?”

“Moby Dick.”

Wonwoo nods, reclining on his hands, head titled as if, after Joshua’s body, is was his mind he needed to assess.

“I can give it to you.”

“You would?”

A nod, and Joshua understands its true meaning. Wonwoo’s satisfied with whatever he found, and the smile he offers as he brushes his dusty fingers on his denims has lost its distant edge.

“Jeonghan told us how you helped him in the train. This, though, purposefully getting arrested? This goes above and beyond.”

“They would have caught us anyway. Better me than him.”

“There’s more to it, though, isn’t it?”

Joshua looks up, at Wonwoo’s open features, his warm eyes, and a hesitant smile makes its way to his lips.

“What are you fishing for?”

“I’m just curious,” Wonwoo shrugs, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “It’s one thing to flee the order, it’s another to shelter a witch, and sacrifice yourself for them.”

“It’s Jeonghan, though.”

“And?”

“They would have shaved his head.”

Wonwoo laughs, bright and carefree, drawing a few stares from the people near the campfire.

“Okay, alright, don’t say anything if you don’t want to.”

“It’s just. You know. He’s–”

Joshua interrupts himself, hands gesturing vaguely in the air. Maybe he spent too long alone in the company of horses for words to fail him now.

“I wanted it to end, sort of. The running. It wasn’t worth it anymore. But Jeonghan, he’s… He’s fighting, you know. He screams at me a lot. And it made me think, maybe there’s yet more to the world. The way he looks, when I read him stories, when he understand words on his own. I want to see the ocean, too. With him.”

Wonwoo nods, something knowing in his eyes, and he touches gentle fingers to Joshua’s wrist as he speaks.

“We will help you. We will help you travel unseen; to the east, to the cities and the ocean you want to see.”

Joshua nods, a bit solemn; but Wonwoo’s words sounded like a pledge and so he hears them as such; they go to the place under his heart, the one he didn’t think could be filled again.

“You should rest some more, yeah? There will be food when you wake up. For now, you should just sleep.”

Wonwoo’s words weight heavy upon his eyelids and Joshua surrenders, his own exhaustion, maybe more than the spell laced in Wonwoo’s voice, dragging him under and he sinks to unknown depths, warm and peaceful.

 

**13.**

When again he wakes, there’s a light weight on his chest. Something curled up against his side. A hand, fisted in his dirty shirt; soft hair brushing the skin of his neck. Jeonghan, softly breathing, and Joshua stays motionless, as if Jeonghan would crumble into dust were he only to shift. He remains there for a long time as the first rays of sunshine warm his bones, raining gold in the hollow behind his ribs.

“Shua?”

Joshua almost trips over his heart as he looks down, looks down at Jeonghan shaking his hair out of his eyes. Joshua realizes, now, that he didn’t think he’d ever see him again, and something strange pulls him under, a deep sorrow he couldn’t feel for himself, and something else, too, a new kind of love, anchored deep within himself.

Jeonghan startles when he hugs him, tight against his chest, but he’s not long to return the embrace, soft arms falling in place around a slender waist.

“I hated you for at least two hours.”

“I know.”

“How could you do this?”

“It was the best way.”

“Getting yourself killed will never be the best way.”

“I didn’t die.”

 “You could have.”

“Are you crying?”

“Maybe.”

Joshua smiles, framing Jeonghan’s face with calloused hands, raising it from his chest as Jeonghan’s eyelids fall shut on watery eyes.

“It’s okay, Jeonghan, it’s okay, I am fine now.”

A weak nod, fingers wiping away tears before they fall, and this is it, Joshua thinks, something worth running for.

When he kisses him, Jeonghan tastes like tears and relief.

 

**14.**

“ _Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago.”_

“Now that I’ve seen it, I understand better.”

Joshua looks down, at Jeonghan pillowing his head into his lap, a warm ocean’s breeze tangling his hair, kissing his golden skin.

“Understand what?”

A shrug, Jeonghan opening his eyes to look up, and Joshua puts the book aside, instead tracing the ridges and slopes of Jeonghan’s face with a careful finger.

“The fascination? The wildness. This isn’t our realm.”

Joshua smiles, raising his head to look at the ocean, its wild expanse of water shining under the sun and it is true, he thinks, this isn’t the realm of man and it should remain that way, free and untouched.

“Keep going.”

“Mh?”

“This isn’t the end, is it?”

Joshua shakes his head, finding his place in the book as Jeonghan nestles more comfortably against him. They found a sheltered place up on the coast, tall grass to lay into, the shade of a tree to rest under.

“ _On the second day, a sail drew near, nearer, and picked me up at last. It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan._ ”

Joshua closes the book, eases it in the grass next to him. There’s a suspended moment, the kind that follows the end of a well-loved book, each to their silent thoughts. And then Jeonghan stirs, shifting slightly, nuzzling against Joshua’s stomach and his words come out muffled.

“I used to feel like an orphan. Alone, and nowhere to belong.”

Joshua could tell him he knows that feeling; countless lonely nights spent on hard ground, listening to the quiet breathing of nameless cellmates, stomach empty and body aching, head full of sermons and hard voices spelling death for innocents. And yet he became like them, hard and merciless, hiding behind an authority all but holy.

Instead he cards gentle finger’s through Jeonghan’s hair, listening, and Jeonghan speaks of fear and loneliness, of times of despair and helplessness, and yet of hope, too, hope that somewhere it would be different, that he could find a place, a place to exist in.

As he speaks a slow breeze rises, grass fluttering, and it smells sweet, of flowers and honey. Joshua recognizes it for what it is; Jeonghan is spilling, and it happens more and more these days, a change in the light, a soft wind, flowers blooming when they should dry. The old world, recognizing Jeonghan for what he is, one of theirs, one who shall remain free, free and unscathed.

Jeonghan moves, looking up at Joshua and he’s smiling, smiling as Joshua’s fingers ghost over his collarbones, dip into the slope of his shoulders.

“I found this, though, I found you, and the ocean, and it is alright, now, it is fine.”

A kiss, and each time light spills in the hollow behind Joshua’s ribs; one day it will be full, he knows, one day it will be and he’ll shine, too, the darkness in him illumined.

 

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, folks


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